


Burden of a Glorious Purse

by ScotlandEvander



Series: Don't Ever Change [4]
Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Sherlock (TV) RPF, Tom Hiddleston Fandom
Genre: BBC Sherlock - Freeform, Budding Romance, Clueless person, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fangirls, Gen, Humor, London, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, POV Alternating, POV First Person, POV Male Character, POV Multiple, POV Third Person, Playing tourist, Texting, Travel, Working on set
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-17
Updated: 2013-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-12 01:45:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/805703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScotlandEvander/pseuds/ScotlandEvander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He felt Pamela tense up for a moment. </p><p>“You owe me for making me carry this horrid tote bag around all afternoon,” he whispered into her ear.<br/>He felt her shiver and grinned. </p><p>“But you’ve been doing such great advertising for Door’s shop,” Pamela said in a level voice. “I sent her photos each time I’ve managed to pick up some free wi-fi this afternoon.”</p><p>Tom groaned and banged his head on the glass above Pamela’s head while she quietly laughed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burden of a Glorious Purse

  
OoOoOoOoOoOoO

_Tom_

Tom booked it back to his own flat, showered and changed. By the time he was done, he was starving. And was getting the beginnings of a headache. It was almost lunch time, so he ate his forty-seven p lunch and drank a few glasses of water. After calling Luke and going over the plans for tomorrow’s appearance on the ITV talk show, Tom grabbed his coat, an apple, the water bottle he’d taken to bringing with him recently and headed back out. He glanced at his watch as he got out of the cab near Ben’s flat to find he was on time. He looked up and spotted Pamela standing just outside the flat, leaning against the building, staring at the ground as she dug the tip of her boot into the cement. 

Since he’d left her, Pamela clearly taken a nap. She appeared more rested and had less tension within her body. Her hair was loose, the blonde highlighted hair falling forward and hiding her face from him. The highlights were distracting, as they looked even more unnatural now that her hair was freed from restraint. She was sporting a black fleece The North Face jacket, beat up jeans, and wore what appeared to be hiking boots. Nice, leather hiking boots, but hiking boots nonetheless. 

She kind of looked like she was ready to go tramping instead of sight seeing around London.

“Cowboy boots?” Pamela inquired as Tom neared her.

“Of course,” he said. He wore his cowboy boots everywhere. He usually put them on these days without realizing it. “A cowboy told me it was time to get some for myself. Proper ones.”

She lifted her head up and quirked an eyebrow at his beat up boots. 

“Did you get them in Texas?”

“No. California.”

The eyebrow went up again.

“Are you from Texas?” he hazarded, feeling like he might have walked into something he ought to have stayed away from. He’d noticed something about certain regions of the United States: they were proud and hated other regions occasionally. 

It was the same in England (or anywhere), only Tom was familiar with England so he knew where not to step. Not so much with the various regions of America (or anywhere else). 

“No. I’m from Colorado,” Pamela replied, pushing herself off the wall. She picked up a bag from the ground next to her. Tom stared at the vivid orange bag and wondered how’d he missed that bag when he’d arrived. “Well, where we going?”

“I thought we’d start out with the big sights. I’ve got sunglasses and I know how to blend,” Tom insisted, motioning the sunglasses he’d stored in the v of his shirt. 

Pamela looked doubtful.

“I don’t know if we’ll blend very well with that handbag of yours,” Tom commented, staring at the thing.

It was really orange.

“Huh?” she asked, then looked down at the bag she was holding in her hand and laughed. “It’s one of Door’s. She makes them loud.”

Tom hummed his agreement, still staring at the bag. 

“You should see the inside,” she said, opening up the huge bag. Tom bent over and peeked inside. 

“Oh my,” Tom commented. “That is rather…busy.”

Pamela laughed. Tom straightened and smiled. She had a wonderful laugh. 

“Busy. I like that word. She discovered a website where you can make your own fabric patterns. Or upload it. Or something. This is one of her own patterns. I think the whole bag must have been a failure as I’ve never seen it on her website, but it was free for me. Oh, and it’s waterproof. That’s why I brought it with me. I don’t usually carry a purse.”

The bag was rather empty. Or it was simply humungous and dwarfed everything else. Tom took note of the label within the bag, which claimed it was Cricket Heidi Designs: Casual, Chic, Everyday.

Tom wasn’t sure there was anything casual, chic or everyday about the bag Pamela was currently holding. 

Pamela shrugged the bag onto her shoulder (it was huge, it was almost as big as she was)and indicated with her chin for him to lead on. Tom turned and began walking along the street in the direction of the nearest Tube station. 

“We will start with the world famous Tube,” Tom offered, hooking his arm through hers to help keep him from walking too fast. It was only slightly awkward due to their height difference but kept Tom’s stride in check. “Don’t worry about being mobbed, though, most people ignore you when they spot you, or try to act like they haven’t noticed you. Or they will see that purse and go running.”

Pamela looked mildly confused, till realization dawned on her. “Ah. Yes. Most people fail to notice the world around them, the people around them, and comings and goings that do not pertain to themselves. But, sometimes they notice things and that is why I carry the purse. Protects me from weirdos.”

“Wonderful, darling,” Tom laughed. “Also, my fans are the greatest. I don’t honestly have that much trouble. Most simply want me to sign something or take a photo with them. The paps are another story all together, but hopefully we won’t come across them today.” 

They walked in silence to the nearest station. Tom insisted on buying the tickets. Pamela gave up after three minutes of trying to shove her own money at the machine. Tom figured she only conceded defeat because she realized she was trying to put dollars into a machine that only took pounds. 

“I’m not usually like this,” Pamela grumbled once they were seated on a train. “I’m put together. I have my shi— stuff together. I’m organized to the point my friends tease me. But…”

“You seem rather scattered,” Tom admitted, giving her a smile. “It’s perfectly understandable, darling. Give yourself some credit. You at least are awake and walking in a straight line.” 

He grinned at her, putting his arm over the back of the seat. It was midday, so the train car was relatively empty. Pamela eyed him for a moment, then gazed around the car. She looked somewhat thoughtful. 

“Ever been on the Tube before?” he asked.

“I road it last night, but I don’t remember much other than how bone tired I was. And I had no clue where I was going,” she admitted. “Colorado Springs doesn’t have a subway so it’s still a novelty, don’t worry.”

“Oh, is that where you grew up? Colorado Springs?”

“Yeah. I didn’t get around much. Not like Door, Miss I’ve Been to Over Forty States Plus Fifteen Different Countries,” Pamela groused. “I mean, my family traveled, but we kept where we could drive. I saw a lot of Colorado, Wyoming and Texas.”

Tom nodded. He questioned her on growing up in Colorado. He heard about red rocks, skiing in the winter, hiking in the summer, and snow up to the roof. She inquired about his childhood and he happily told her all about growing up with two sisters, boarding school and discovering acting. 

“Our stop. Come along, darling.”

Tom stood up, holding out his hand to help her to her feet. She got up without his aid. She hadn’t noticed his extended hand till she was on her feet, thus she turned rather pink. (Part of Tom wanted to keep doing things to bring out the pink cheeks, while the other part of him wanted her to stop being so damn adorable.) Tom gave her a good natured smile and shrugged. He did, though, place his hand on her back to lead her off the train car. He kept it there to steer her through the growing crowds as they’d made their way to the heart of London. He stayed behind her as they got onto the escalators to start towards the surface.

“Wow,” she breathed, her head craning around in all directions. “This is kind of amazing when you think about it.”

Tom looked around, the various escalators going up, going down, going to all the various lines. He had never really paid much attention before, but it was somewhat impressive when he looked at it from a fresh perspective. He took note of the beauty in the concrete and metal that made up the expanse of the area they were in, the gleaming silver of the escalator and the harshness of the fluorescent lights. 

“I mean, London is an old city,” Pamela explained when Tom hadn’t responded. “There are layers upon layers to London that live underground. Like Rome, they kind of just built over stuff as time wore on and this was dug out and built through all that history. In a timely manner, as they are still trying to build that line for the subway in New York and have been trying to do it for an ungodly amount of time.”

“Never been here, yet know about my good city’s history?” Tom teased. 

“History Channel,” was her answer. The weight it was said told Tom there was a story behind the reason she’d spent so much time watching the History Channel. 

Pamela peeked up at him and saw his inquisitive expression.

“I spent a lot of time sitting around Altus when I was there for training. Not a lot to do in Altus, so I spent a lot of time watching the History Channel.” 

They continued to ride the longest escalator known to man. She leaned back into him as they neared the top. He felt her warmth through his thin t-shirt and stared down at the top of her head, once again marveling at the symmetry of her highlights along her perfectly straight, center part. 

“Amazing.”

Was she reading his mind? Why was he so fixated upon those blasted highlights?

“This is seriously amazing,” Pamela breathed, walking forward and moving away from him so quick he almost lost her. She didn’t get far (short legs). Tom grabbed her shoulder and steered her towards the exit, as of course, she’d gone the wrong way. She mumbled something about GPS as she proceeded to turn scarlett. 

“Where are we exactly?”

“I thought the station name gave it way?”

Pamela laughed, looking up at him over her shoulder. “I did note that. But from what Door told me, the stops are never really near the tourist spots.” 

“Door’s been here?”

“Yeah. She studied abroad, unlike me. She spent an entire year in London.”

“Well, wasn’t she a lucky girl,” Tom commented. 

“Door’s been an anglophile since she was twelve and made the combined discovery of the Beatles and Masterpiece Theater,” Pamela explained. “So, where are we exactly? Besides Westminster station.” 

“We’re in the heart of London. Parliament, Big Ben, Westminster Abbey, The Eye— all within an easy walk of the Westminster station.” 

Pamela nodded. “Door loved Parliament. I’m pretty sure she wrote odes to it for months.”

“She’s been?”

“Yeah. She was here in the late summer when it was open to tourists. Then they go into session or something. I don’t remember. It wasn’t important when I was looking through her scrapbook. She still told me. Clearly some of it filtered into my head, burrowed and made a home.”

“So she is a demiurge of words as well as garrulous,” Tom mused, moving so he was walking next to Pamela. 

He dropped his hand from her back as they got onto the next escalator to the surface. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and peered down at her. She’d narrowed her eyes a bit before rolling them. 

“If you’re saying she invents her own words and never shuts up, then yes. That is Door to the tee,” Pamela laughed, causing Tom to break into a huge smile. 

That laugh might be his undoing. He wanted to cause it more often. 

“Those are two of her major quirks. She also uses big words like you.”

“Pray tell?” Tom asked. 

Tom was curious about Door. During the time he’d known Ben and become good friends, Tom had learned Ben didn’t randomly pick up people up at parks. Ben was quite private now that his fame had grown to the point his last name had become a verb. The circles he traveled in were composed of actors or people in the business. The people he called ‘friend’ was small and included a few people he knew from back in the day and fellow actors. Ben was usually rather weary of new people he met. Especially ones he met in the public. 

Hence why Tom was rather surprised he had kept up contact with this Door person. Granted, it was due to Ben her life had recently spiraled out of proportion. All thanks to a mention on Twitter and the fact Ben regularly read her blog and commented. 

Granted, Door could write and was quite entertaining. 

“Hasn’t Benedict pointed you at her blog? Sometimes I need a dictionary to read it,” Pamela grumbled stepping off the escalator, staring up above her at the buildings. 

“You used the context of my sentence to figure out what the words meant,” Tom pointed out. “I doubt you use the dictionary often.”

“Well, yeah. But I’m not…verbose like she is…then again, I can spell grammar,” Pamela laughed. She turned around while still walking, taking her surroundings. “This place is utterly amazing. I mean, it’s always looked nice on TV and stuff, but in person it’s just…”

She trailed off, unable to find the proper word. 

“I know what you mean,” Tom agreed, smiling down at her. “I find London to be the beau ideal of cities.”

Pamela rolled her eyes and shoved her purse at him, muttering at him to hold it for a moment. 

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

* * *

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

_Benedict_

Filming in London is always hectic. At least the fans have been well behaved today. Sue put out a request the night before for them to behave themselves and not to allow any spoilers to get out. Pretty sure they wouldn’t understand what they were seeing by what we were filming today, but…eh. 

It does feel good to be back at Baker Street (well, Sherlock’s Baker’s Street, not the actual Baker Street). 

It is a mite cold. I can deal with the cold, though I feel a tad sorry for the fans. They are just standing in the freezing cold. Though, I guess it’s better than standing in the heat. (Door complained it was going to be ninety degrees today in Texas. Much too hot for March.)

“What’s got into you today?”

I startle to find Martin standing next to me in the doorway to the flat we use for 221B’s exterior. He’s wearing a huge puffy coat with a furry hood. 

He looks ridiculous. Especially with the look he’s wearing on his face. 

“What do you mean?”

“You seem far away,” he explains, shrugging. 

My phone beeps. 

“And now you’re beeping. You shouldn’t beep.”

I _shouldn’t_ beep. I also shouldn’t have my own phone on me, but I must have slipped it into Sherlock’s coat when I wasn’t paying attention.

I pull out the phone and look down to find I’ve got a text and a photo from a number in the States. I don’t know the number off the top of my head, so I assume it might be Door. I’d given her my mobile number last night to give to Pamela. 

The photo is too small for me to really understand the text, so I go into the text menu and find it’s a photo of Tom. In a Tube car. I frown as another text pops in from the same number.

**_You do realize she’d got no clue who she’s with, right?_ **

**_You didn’t tell her she was with Hiddleston._ **

I look at the photo again. It is clear Tom is in guide mode. He is leaning forward to the photo taker and has no clue his photo is being taken, though from the angle, I believe Pamela is taking the photo. 

**_Please take photos when she figures out she spent the day with Hiddleston._ **

**_Here’s the other ones she sent me. She takes stealth photos._ **

The two photos pop in. The first one is of Tom in front of Westminster Abby. He’s got both hands out to the side and is wearing a familiar expression. In the background, several people are also snapping his photo as he’s making a scene. 

Or it’s because on his shoulder is the brightest and largest orange tote bag I’ve ever seen. 

I sigh loudly. 

“Is that Hiddleston?” Martin asks, leaning closer to see what has gotten my attention. 

“Yes. He’s showing off for her.”

“Who?”

“Pamela. Cricket’s friend. The one who is currently trapped in London with Tom Hiddleston.”

“Ah, a young women’s dream,” Martin sighs, chuckling. “What is he doing there?”

Martin makes a strange face. I turn the phone back to me and realize Door’s done something to other photo.

I tap the photo to make it bigger. 

And burst out laughing. 

“Ten minutes you two,” one of the crew says, pausing a moment to glance between Martin and myself. 

“Look at this,” Martin says, taking the phone and holding the phone out to her. 

The crew member bursts out laughing. “Where’d you find that?”

“Cricket,” Martin and I say together. 

(It’s become rather well known by the entire crew that my new friend is a source of entertainment with her randomness. Give her a photo and she’d make any Sherlockian proud with how bizarre and random she can be. Together, we’re somewhat dangerous. I’m pretty sure we made Martin cry with laughter with the things we came up with for the grape photo we took during read throughs.) 

(I also always refer to her as Cricket when speaking with people at work. It is her professional name. Even if she’s not…behaving all that professional…) 

“Will she ever stop?” the crew member chuckles. 

“Likely not.”

“We’ll be ready in five, now,” she says before walking off. 

I take the phone back from Martin and stare at the photo of Tom. He’s holding the gigantic orange tote and staring at it in mass confusion. 

It is the most orange purse I’ve seen and clearly a Cricket Heidi creation. 

If Tom’s expression while staring at the monstrosity wasn’t enough, Door’s added the following text: _I am Loki of Asgard and I am burdened with a glorious purse_. 

And oh, is it a glorious purse. 

“Hey, we gotta give her something new to keep her focused on Sherlock. Stick these in your eyes,” Martin orders, pulling my earbuds out of the pocket of my coat. “I did grapes, you’ll do earbuds. It’ll be amazing!” 

How the hell did those get in there? 

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

* * *

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

_Tom_

“I think that girl is having a heart attack,” Pamela whispered, pressing herself into Tom’s side so he could hear her. She turned and looked over his shoulder— something she could only do because he was leaning on the railing that went around the pod of the London Eye and his shoulder was lower than her eyes for once. 

Tom didn’t need to turn around to know the teenager who was with her family behind him had realized who was trapped in the glass pod with her. He’d heard her squeal, fumble with her mobile and her mother telling her to leave him alone at least fifty times before Pamela had taken note. He resolutely remained facing the city, gazing out as they slowly climbed upwards into the sky. He was now not looking at the city, but mostly at the other pods as they were on their way down.

“Maybe you should, uh,” Pamela’s voice failed her suddenly. Tom straighten, turning to find the girl was right behind him and looked like a scared cat.

“Hi,” she breathed. “Ca-ca-ca-can I have a photo?” 

“Emily,” her mother chastised, looking alarmed her daughter had escaped to the other side of the pod.

“Of course, darling,” Tom said, extending his arm out to indicate the girl could come forward. “Pamela, sweetheart, could you?”

Pamela held out her hand for the mobile. He watched her carefully. She didn’t seem upset, overwhelmed or at all bothered by the interruption. His fan, on the other hand, startled. She stared at Pamela as if she hadn’t noticed the woman before. Pamela gave the girl a smile.

“Th-th-thanks,” the teenager stuttered, quickly reverting to excited fan. She scampered over to Tom and stood next to him. He could feel her vibrating as he put her arm around his shoulder. 

“All right, say cheese,” Pamela said, holding up the mobile. 

The mobile made the shutter noise. Pamela stared at it for a moment, then looked up and asked, “Another?”

“Another,” Tom agreed as the girl nodded. 

Pamela snapped three more before she extended the phone to the teen. 

“Thanks,” the girl breathed.

“Oh, no problem. What was your name?” Tom asked, even though he had heard her mother use it often. 

“Emily,” she said in a rush. “We’re on vacation. I didn’t think I’d see anyone famous. I’ve been to LA and New York a hundred times and have never met a famous person before, let alone one—”  

She suddenly stopped talking, turning bright red. Tom smiled. Pamela was still holding the mobile out for the teen, who was staring at Tom. Tom took the phone from Pamela.

“Well, I’m glad you could meet me,” Tom said, extending the phone to the girl. Suddenly, Pamela thrust a map of the Underground at him. She reached into the zipped pocket on the left side of her chest and produced a pen. Tom grinned at Pamela, taking the map and pen, quickly singing it for Emily. 

“Oh, thank you, Tom!” Emily exclaimed, taking the map and her mobile. 

Tom smiled, “You are most welcome, darling.”

Emily’s mother loudly called her attention and Emily excused herself. Pamela smiled, then turned to stare out the glass at the skyline of London as they sunk closer to the ground. 

“We ought to take a photo. No one will believe you spent the afternoon with someone famous if you fail to have evidence,” Tom joked.

Pamela smiled at him, shaking her head. “I’ll just take a photo of you.”

Before he could react, a white iPhone appeared out of nowhere. It vanished as quickly as it’d appeared. 

“What was that?”

“Stealth photos. It’s a talent of mine. I’ve been taking photos since we left the Tube station. Hence why you’re still carrying the Purse of Blindness.”

Tom startled, realizing he indeed still had her overly large purse over his shoulder. And had since she’d shoved it at him shortly after they’d come out of the Tube station.

“Oh my,” he muttered. 

Pamela grinned up at him before turning her attention back to the skyline, making no move to relieve him of her bag. She leaned forward and stared downward into the Thames. Tom hitched the tote bag on his shoulder and glanced around the pod. The teenager stared at Pamela, looking somewhat jealous and a bit envious. Tom had a feeling he’d have to deal with some photos of them together and rumors of a new girlfriend.

Or simply the fact he’d taken to carrying around the most orange bag he could have been caught with. 

He looked down at Pamela as he noticed the teenager raise her phone up again. She was aiming it in their direction. Tom moved to box Pamela in, thus shielding her from any cameras in the pod (the fact the orange bag swung down also helped). He doubt anyone would be able to get a picture of Pamela’s face unless they got into their faces— or even noticed she was with him. 

He felt Pamela tense up for a moment. 

“You owe me for making me carry this horrid tote bag around all afternoon,” he whispered into her ear. 

He felt her shiver and grinned. 

“But you’ve been doing such great advertising for Door’s shop,” Pamela said in a level voice. “I sent her photos each time I’ve managed to pick up some free wi-fi this afternoon.”

Tom groaned and banged his head on the glass above Pamela’s head while she quietly laughed. 

* * *

“My feet are killing me,” Pamela muttered as she rammed into him. She glared over her shoulder at the commuter who’d attempted to run her over. “Sorry about that.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it, darling. Here.”

Tom put an arm around her and pulled her closer to him so people would stop trying to knock her over. She stiffened for a moment, but allowed him to keep her in his personal space. 

“Have you heard from Ben today?”

“Uh, no. I don’t have any cell service here,” she all but shouted up at him over the din of the station. “I only can use the phone when I find some free wi-fi to send messages through Skype. I used a pay phone to call Benedict last night.” 

“Well, I believe they were only shooting during the daylight hours. It’s getting dark,” Tom commented. “I’ll drop you by his flat and stay if he’s not there. And order you food. I doubt Ben’s got anything to eat other than toast and eggs.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that. I can eat eggs. Or figure out how to order take out.” 

“Do you know where you are?”

“London.”

“I believe my point is made. And it’s no trouble at all.”

“You’re like the nicest guy in the world, you know that?”

“Bless you, but I assure you I’m not.” 

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

* * *

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

_Benedict_

I’ve got a three hour block off before they want to start the night filming for Baker Street. Seeing I haven’t eaten anything substantial all day, I head home to make dinner. The car drops me off and I hurry into the flat.

It’s empty, as I figured it would be. Quickly I shed the clothes I wore to work, throw new ones on, grab a hat, a different coat and head to the corner store for some food. I know I’ve got nothing in, as I hadn’t planned on being around for any meals whilst in town. 

I hadn’t known I’d have a guest. Even if she’s been adducted by Hiddleston.

I frequent the store near my flat enough, I am able to get in and out without issue. I’m always thankful when this occurs because I feel normal. 

I enjoy feeling normal. 

I let myself back into the flat and begin to try to remember where the pots are when my phone buzzes. I yank it out and see an unknown number that is not actually a number. I debate on answering for a moment.

“Hello?”

Curiosity killed the cat and I’m a dead cat.

“Ben! Is Pamela around?”

“No. She’s not here,” I say, letting out a sigh. 

It’s Door. Of course it’s Door. Calling from Skype— that always shows up as some sort of strange sequence of numbers. She’s called me a few times, I ought to know when it looks weird, it’s Door. 

“She’s got no clue who she spent the day with, does she?”

“That she’s with Hiddleston? I don’t know. I didn’t get a chance to tell her his last name. I only said Tom,” I admit. “She didn’t seem to know the back of his head— though, you had no clue who I was till I took my sunglasses off.”

“I’m never gonna live that down, am I?” she laughs. 

“I doubt it. I thought you were the big Hiddles fan,” I tease. “Shouldn’t she know the back of his head?”

“I’m a fan of his work,” Door reminds me, her voice serious suddenly. “She’s a fan of his face.”

“His face?”

“Fine. His hair. Specifically, his hair as Magnus Martinsson,” Door says.

I have no idea what Tom’s hair looked like when he played this Magnus person. I am going to go out on a limb and guess it did not look as it does at the moment. 

“I’m not jealous of the fact she got to spend the day with him other than the fact she spent it in London of all places,” Door insists. “What are you doing? Don’t you have location filming today?”

“I have a three hour block off and came home for tea,” I tell her, finding the sauce pan I was looking for. 

What is it doing over here? I don’t remember storing the pots clear across the kitchen. That is rather stupid. They ought to be under the hob. Or above the hob. There seems to be an oven under the hob. 

I could store them in the oven. I don’t use it. 

“Tea. Oh, how I miss tea time,” Door says fondly. “You know, I vaguely knew you two were friends but it never occurred to me he’d be around when I sent her over. You could have told me you two were hanging out when I asked last night.”

“He popped by, fell asleep on my couch and didn’t leave,” I inform her. “I wasn’t aware he planned to kip on the couch.”

Door hums. She tells me she is highly annoyed when her husband does this to her instead of giving a proper answer. I doubt she realizes she does the same thing. 

“You know…I was hoping you two would get some time to get to know one another,” Door says, her voice sounding far off. “You know…like, uh…”

“Door, are you playing match maker?” I flatly ask.

Not that I’d mind. It was not like I had many dating prospects with my line of work.

Though, dating someone in the military— the American military— wasn’t ideal. 

Actually, at this point in my career, dating isn’t ideal. I know I do not have time to date. I’d like to date. If I found the right person. But, it’d be hard.

Though, I guess it’d be like dating someone in the military…if I think about it. I’m gone a lot. Just not to war zones. 

“No. Why would I do that?” Door lies. Badly. 

“Because you’re one of those married people,” I snark. “Always trying to make other people as happy as you are.”

Door hums again. “I’m a horrible person, aren’t I? A relationship between the actor and the military pilot…sounds like a plot for a bad romance novel. One is super busy, jet setting around the world— the other is trapped in a war zone a million miles away. They long to be together, but circumstance gets in the way.”

She sings the last line to a tune I don’t know and then lets out a laugh, one that twists my heart for reasons I refuse to analyze.  

“I need to stop reading romance novels,” she mutters. “BASIL!”

I hear barking, something fall over and Door shouting at her barmy dog. I close my eyes for a moment and imagine the scene: the odd looking mutt barking her little head off at something out the window, then running when Door starts yelling. They chase each other around the room. 

I chuckle softly, reopening my eyes as the door to the flat opens.

“Door, dearest, your friend has returned.”

“Oh— go to bed! GO TO BED!” Door orders the dog (I hope). “I’ll call you tomorrow to get the down low. Basil, go to BED! Bad dog! NO! Bye, Ben. Basil, bad do—” 

She hangs up as I hear Pamela and Tom enter the flat. I slip the phone into my pocket and go to greet them. 

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

* * *

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

_Tom_

Ben was already home by the time Tom and Pamela arrived back at Ben’s flat. He was in the mists of making himself (and Pamela) dinner from food he clearly made appear out of thin air, as there was no evidence he had had time to run to the shops. Ben had been in such a hurry to get home, he’d worn Sherlock’s coat home. It was tossed over the back of the chair near the door, along with a solid blue scarf.  

“I was wondering where you’d gone,” Ben commented as he entered the lounge. “I worried Tom took you hostage.” 

“I left a note,” Pamela said, removing her coat. Ben instantly took it from her and hung it up in the closet near the front door. “Didn’t you see it? I put it on the fridge.”

“Oh, is that what that was?” Ben asked, pretending to be confused. “No, I saw it. I wasn’t sure when you’d be back. Nor how to contact you, as I doubt you’d enjoy the international roaming charges if I phoned your mobile.”

“You could have phoned me,” Tom commented. 

“I texted you.”

Tom pulled his phone out. Sure enough, he had several texts he’d not noticed from Ben. 

“Oops. Put it on silent.”

Ben rolled his eyes. “So, you two’ve been out most of the day, then?”

Tom slipped the phone back into his pocket. 

“Yeah,” Pamela said, turning to smile at Tom. Ben went back into the kitchen. “Tom was nice enough to show me around. Thank you again, by the way. You went above and beyond.”

“He does that,” Ben called from the kitchen. “We’re all quite pleasant here in England.”

“I’ve noticed,” Pamela agreed, turning away from Tom. 

Things began to crash in the kitchen. Tom peered over Pamela’s head and into the kitchen to see Ben attempting to shove a rather large stack of pots into the oven. 

“Well, I’m famished and I need to eat my rice and veggies,” Tom said, loud enough it carried over Ben’s attempt to bake his pots. “It was nice meeting you, Pamela. Thank you for entertaining me this afternoon.”

“No, thank you. Really, Tom, I don’t know how to even begin to express my…gratitude. And you were a good sport about the bag.” 

She beamed up at him. Full blown, eyes twinkling, teeth pleasantly showing, lips stretched wide smile. 

Bloody hell. 

“Oh, it was my pleasure,” Tom insisted, matching her smile. 

He noticed the shift, the subtle change in her face as she really saw him for the first time, really noticed _him_. Her smile fell a bit, her eyes got a wider and her breath hitched a little. 

Tom smiled a little larger, breaking eye contact swiftly to look at the orange tote still living on his shoulder. 

His heart was palpitating in his chest off beat.

“Speaking of the bag,” he started, happy to hear his voice was normal sounding. He looked back up at her as he produced the orange monstrosity and extended it to her. “Please tell Door if she ever makes something…manly and less obnoxious, I’ll happily carry it for her.”

“Oh, uh, I’ll let her know. She’s branching into leather, so maybe she’ll make something normal looking?” Pamela said, her own voice steady and normal, even if her body language was screaming flustered. 

“I guess I’ll see you after your trip to Los Angeles?” Ben asked, appearing in the doorway.

“Yes. Of course,” Tom agreed, tearing his eyes off the small woman before him. “Best be on my way. I’ve got an early morning.”

“Laters,” Ben said, turning and going back into the kitchen. 

Pamela fidgeted with the orange bag till she dropped it on the ground. It landed with a resounding thump.

“What the hell is in there?” she muttered, staring at the bag.

“I might have put a bottle of water in there,” Tom admitted. “I had it in my pocket.”

Tom bent down and got the plastic water bottle he’d taken to carrying around with him out of her bag. He stood up. 

“So, uh, nice meeting you,” Pamela said, wrapping her arms around herself. 

She took a few steps backwards, running into the chair with Sherlock’s coat and scarf. 

“The pleasure was all mine,” Tom said, wearing a smile that he was sure revealed his inner turmoil. His feet didn’t want to move away, he did not want to leave. He wanted to say something else, but didn’t know what to ask, what to say, or what to do. His stomach urged him to high tail it out of there and deposit food stuffs into it, but his feet had no intention of moving. 

“Twitter,” he blurted out. 

“Twitter?” Pamela asked, knitting her eyebrows together in confusion. 

“I use Twitter. I could follow you,” he rushed out with, his heart rate galloping into warp speed, his stomach protesting and his feet channeling cement blocks.

Pamela looked even more bemused and in a tone of voice that pretty much meant _does not compute_ asked _,_ “You want to follow me?”

“Yes. Of course,” Tom insisted, then added as an afterthought, “I should follow Door as well.” 

Tom pulled the mobile out again, flicking through the lock screen and ignoring Ben’s numerous texts in favor of opening Twitter. 

“Um, yeah, um, Door…I got one when Door did. Neither of us really understand it, though, but, uh, sure. Um…don’t remember my username.” 

Pamela fumbled with her own phone, dropping it and picking it up quickly. She entered the wrong password in a few times. Ben swooped into the room, took the phone and entered something into it before handing it back to Pamela. 

“You’re on my network now,” he called, going back into the kitchen.

“Thanks,” Pamela called, then hit the face of the phone. “Cirrus Black. All one word. I forgot that I picked that out.”

“Sirius Black? That was available?” Tom asked, searching. There were a million and two accounts for Sirius Black. 

“No. Uh, like the airplane,” she said, chuckling in an embarrassed manner. “C-I-R-R-U-S. Black. I assume you can spell that, right?”

“Yes, I’m a galumptious speller,” Tom assured with a wink. His finger flew across the screen of his phone and he found her instantly. He hit follow. 

She laughed. “I haven’t used it in ages. I mean, I check it occasionally— but as I said, I really don’t get it.”

She was staring at the mobile, frowning. 

“Well, I guess I will tweet you later,” Tom said, wondering what had gotten her attention on the phone. 

“Yeah,” she quietly said, slowly looking up at him. “Tom Hiddleston just followed me.”

Tom grinned at her. 

Pamela blanched.

“No way.”

Tom knitted his eyebrows together, letting his grin slip from his face. “I told you I played Loki. Did you— did you not realize that was my last name?”

She looked like death warmed over. 

“I don’t know anyone’s name except yours!” she exclaimed, dropping the phone on the floor. It bounced as it hit the edge of the rug covering the wooden floor. Tom watched it, almost transfixed till Pamela began shouting again. “And I only know who you are because Door’s been following you since you first popped up on her radar!”

“When did I do that?”

“Before I met her! She is…” Pamela suddenly tugged her hair away from her scalp, looking a mite wild. “Some HBO movie she saw right before she started college. I don’t remember. She recorded it and showed it to me, but she obsessively has followed your career since 2002.” 

“She didn’t know who I was till 2005. I feel cheated,” Ben complained, poking his head into the room. A smile tugged on his lips as he appeared, faltering only slightly when he noted the state Pamela had worked herself into. For the first time Pamela looked like how many people stared at Tom, yet at the same time she didn’t. She looked completely freaked out as well as star-struck and a bit dazed. 

She was also still deathly pale. 

Tom shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked on his heels for a moment. He put on a smile and tried not to look as uncomfortable as he felt. 

“Well, Door hides her monomania quite well,” Tom offered, unsure how to react. He almost wanted to take back the whole Twitter debacle if it meant he’d have the old Pamela back— the one who failed to realize she was in Tom Hiddleston’s mists. 

“She doesn’t, actually,” Ben argued, looking concerned for the catatonic state Tom had rendered Pamela in. Ben smirked suddenly, his eyes glittering with a familiar twinkle. He pulled out his phone and took a photo of Pamela.

“Ben!” Tom chided. 

Ben winked. 

“Pamela?” Tom asked, eyeing her carefully.

Her mouth snapped shut and her shoulders rolled backwards and she stood up taller. Suddenly, she reverted into a creature Tom didn’t recognize as Pamela. He had a feeling he was meeting the Air Force Captain for the first time. 

“It was wonderful to meet you,” she replied formally and stiffly. 

She stuck out her hand, her face a mask of polite interest. 

Tom felt something wither within him. 

Tom shook her hand. There was one pump and she dropped his hand as if it were on fire. She took a few steps backwards and her mask shattered. Pamela reappeared as she ran into the chair. The action caused her to awkwardly step around the offending object. She continued to walk backwards, throwing out a “Goodbye,” and fleeing the room in the most graceful way she could manage— meaning she tripped over her feet twice, ran into the coffee table, and collided the corner of the hallway. 

Tom wasn’t too fond of the Air Force Captain, but he did quite like Pamela— star struck or not. 

Ben watched her hurry down the hall and remained silent till she slammed the door to the guest room. Slowly, Ben raised his eyebrows and looked back at Tom. 

“You didn’t tell her who you were?”

“She introduced herself as Pamela. So I said I was Tom. I told her I was well known due to Loki!” Tom exclaimed. “I assumed—”

“You know what Americans say about people who assume,” Ben drawled, smirking at him. 

“Oh, I know.”

“I’m sure she dropped several hints she was clueless about famous people, correct?”

“Well, yes. But, she knew who Loki was and she’d seen that movie.”

“Ask her who Iron Man is,” Ben remarked, fiddling with his phone.

“Well, I can’t do that now. She’s locked away in her room.”

“The answer won’t be Robert Downey, Jr.”

“What would it be?”

“The guy with the drug problem and she’ll say it like a question. To her, up till a few minutes ago you were that guy who played Loki who happened to be named Tom. Up till she met me last night, I was that Elf Guy.”

“Elf Guy?”

“She evidently thinks I look like an elf,” Ben drawled, smirking. “Door had to inform her not to call me Elf Guy and drill into her head my name was Benedict. She still called me Elf Guy.”

“She seemed to know my name all day. And she knew your name this morning,” Tom said.

Ben shrugged. “I don’t know. Why aren’t you leaving?”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“You have to go eat,” Ben reminded him as Tom’s stomach growled and prompted him to remember his need to eat. 

“Okay. Uh, what is on your roster tomorrow?” Tom asked, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

Ben studied him, cocking his head to the side. Ben’s light blue-green eyes bored into Tom’s blue ones as if Ben was trying to figure out some sort of secret Tom had been keeping. 

Tom had no secret. 

That he knew of.

“I’ve got a few street scenes in the morning to finish up,” Ben said. “Then more night shots if we don’t get done tonight.” 

Tom nodded, rocking back and forth on his feet. “So?”

“If you text me, I’ll let you know what she’s doing,” Ben sighed, standing up and folding his arms across his chest. 

He looked resigned. 

“Oh?” Tom asked, pretending to be clueless.

“You are so transparent,” Ben sighed. 

“I am not.”

“Uh huh.”

“Well, I must be going. It was lovely to see you,” Tom said, plastering a smile on his face. “We must do it again.”

“You falling asleep on my couch ten minutes after arrival and sleeping till morning?” Ben quipped, shaking is head. “Just bugger off so I can feed my guest.”

Tom did just that: he buggered off. 

* * *

_Edited and reloaded 19 August 2013_


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